Pindarick ODE,

Well may our Lives bear an uncertain date;Disturb'd with Maladies within,Without by cross Events of Fate,The worst of Plagues on Mortals wait,Pride, Ignorance and Sin.If our ancient Mother Earth,Who gave us all untimely Birth,Such strong Hysterick Passion feels;If Orbs are from their Axles torn,And Mountains into Valleys worn,All in a moments space,Can humane RaceStand on their Legs when Nature Reels?Unhappy Man! in all things cross'd,On every giddy Wave of Fortune toss'd;The only thing that aims at Sway,And yet capricious Fate must still Obey;Travels for Wealth to Foreign Lands,O're scorching Mountains, and o're desart Sands,Laden with Gold, when homeward bound,Is in one vast impetuous Billow drown'd:Or if he reaches to the Shoar,And there unlades his Oar,Builds Towns and Houses which may last and stand,Thinking no Wealth so sure as firm Land;Yet Fate the Animal does still pursue;This slides from underneath his Feet, and leaves him too.

II.

Environ'd with Ten Thousand Fears we live,For Fate do's seldom a just warning give;Quicker than Thought its dire Resolves are made,And swift as Lightning flies,Around the vast extended Skies:All things are by its Bolts in vast Confusion laid.Sometimes a Flaming Comet does appear,Whose very Visage does pronounce,Decay of Kingdoms, and the Fall of Crowns,Intestine War, or Pestilential Year;Sometimes a Hurricane of Fate,Does on some great Mans Exit wait,A murder'dCornish, or someHercules,When from their Trunks AlmightyJove,Who breaks with Thunder weighty Clouds above,To Honour theseLarge Pines and Oaks does Lop,And in a Whirlwind lays 'em uponOeta's Top.E're this vast Orb shall unto Chaos turn,And with Consuming Flames shall burn,An Angel Trumpeter shall come,Whose Noise shall shake the Massie Ground,In one short moment shall express,His Notes to the whole Universe;The very Dead shall hear his Sound,And from their Graves repair,To the impartial Bar,Those that have been in the deep Ocean drown'd,Shall at his Call come to receive their Doom.

III.

But here, alas! no Omens fly,No secret Whisper of their DestinyWas heard; none cou'd divineWhen Fate wou'd spring the Mine:Safe and secure the Mortals go,Not dreaming of a Hell below;In the dark Caverns of the gloomy Earth,Where suffocating Sulphur has its Birth,And sparkling Nitre's made,WhereVulcanand hisCyclopsprove;The Thunderbolts they make forJove;HereÆolushis Winds has laid,Here is his Windy Palace, here 'tis saidHis Race of little puffing Gods are bred,Which serve for Bellows to blow up the Flame,The dire ingredients are in order plac'd,Which must anon lay Towns and Cities waste.Strait the black Engineer of Heaven came,His Match a Sun-beam was,He swift as Time unto the Train did pass,It soon took Fire; The Fire and Winds contend,But both concur the Vaulted Earth to rend;It upwards rose, and then it downwards fell,Aiming at Heaven, it sunk to Hell:The Neighb'ring Seas now own no more,The sturdy Bulwarks of the Shoar,The gaping Earth and greedy Sea,Are both contending for the Prey;Those whom the rav'nous Earth had ta'ne,Into her Bowels back againAre wash't from thence by the insulting Main.

IV.

The Old and Young receive alike their Doom,The Cowards and the Brave,Are buried in one Grave;For Fate allows 'em all one Common Tomb.The Aged and the WiseLose all their Reason in the great Surprise.They know not where to go,And yet they dare not stay,There's Fire and Smoak below,And the Earth gaping to receive the Prey:If to the Houses Top they Crawl,These tumble too, and downwards fall:And if they fly into the Street,There grizly Death they meet;All in a hurry dye away,The wicked had not time to pray.The Soldier once cou'd teach grim Death to kill,In vain is all his Skill,In vain he brandisheth his Steel:No more the Art of War must teach,But lyes Fates Trophy underneath the Breach:The good Companions now no more Carouse,They share the Fate of the declining House,Healths to their Friends their Bumpers Crown'd:But while they put the Glasses round,Death steps between the Cup and lip,Nor would it let 'em take one parting Sip.

The Mine is sprung, and a large Breach is made,Whereat strong Troops of Warring Seas invade;These overflow;Where Houses stood and Grass did grow,All sorts of Fish resort:They had Dominions large enough before,But now unbounded by the Shoar,They o're the Tops of Houses sport.The Watry Fry their Legions do extend,And for the new slain Prey contend;Within the Houses now they roam,Into their Foe, the very Kitchen, come.One does the Chimney-hearth assail,Another slaps the Kettle with his slimy Tail.No Image there of Death is seen,No Cook-maid does obstruct their Sway,They have entirely got the day.Those who have once devour'd beenBy Mankind, now on Man do Feed:Thus Fate decides, and steps between,And sometimes gives the Slave the Victors meed.The Beauteous Virgins whom the Gods might love,Cou'd not the Curse of Heav'n remove;Their goodness might for Crimes Atone,Inexorable Death spares none.Their tender Flesh lately so plump and good,Is now made Fishes and Sea-monsters Food;In vain they cry,Heav'n is grown Deaf, and no Petition hears,Their Sighs are answer'd like their Lovers Pray'rs,They in the Universal Ruin lye.

VI.

Nor is inexorable Fate contentTo ruine one poor Town alone;More Mischief by the Blow is done:Death's on a farther Message sent.When Fate a Garrison does Sack,The very Suburbs do partakeOf Martial Law,Its Forces drawTo every Mountain, Field and Wood,They Ravage all the Neighbourhood.Worse than the weak Assaults of Steel,Its Instruments of Death all places feel.They undiscover'd, like fell Poison kill,Its Warriours fierce,The Earth, the Air, and Men do pierce;And mounted, fight upon the winged Winds.Here a great Mountain in a Valley's thrown,And there a Valley to a Mountain grown.The very Breath of an incensed God,Makes even proudOlympusNod.Chang'd is the Beauty of the fruitful Isle,And its fair Woods lopp'd for its Funeral Pile.The moving Earth forms it self in Waves,And Curls its Surface like the Rowling Seas;Whilst Man (that little thing) so vainly Raves,Nothing but Heaven can its own Wrath appease.

VII.

But Fate at length thought fit to leave its Toil,And greedy Death was glutted with the Spoil.As weary Soldiers having try'd their Steel,Half drown'd with Blood, do then desist to kill.More Ruin wou'd a second Deluge make,Blot out the Name of the unhappy Isle.It fares with her as when in Martial Field,Resolv'd and Brave, and loath to yield,Two num'rous Armies do contend,And with repeated Shouts the Air do Rend.Whilst the affrighted Earth does shake,Some large Battalions are entirely lost,And Warring Squadrons from the mighty Host:Here by a Shot does fallSome Potent General;And near to him,Another loses but a Limb.Part of the Island was a Prey to Fate,And all the rest do's but prolong its date,'Till injur'd Heav'n finds,Its Bolts a Terror strike on humane Minds;Sure we may hope the Sinners there Repent,Since it has made their lewdest Priest Relent.

APindarick ODE,IN THEPRAISEOFFollyandKnavery.By Mr.TUTCHIN.L O N D O N,Printed and Sold byE. W.nearStationers-Hall.1696. Price 6d.

My humble Muse no Hero Sings,Nor Acts, nor Funerals of Kings:The greatMarianow no more,In Sable Lines she does deplore;Of mightyWilliam's growing fame,At present must forget the name,Yet she affects something that is sublime,And would inDytherambickstrain}Attempt to rise, and now disdainThe Shrubs and Furzes of the Plain:He that's afraid to fall, shou'd ne'r pretend to climb.

II.

Let others boast of potent Wit,And Summon in the awfulNine,With all their Aids of Fancy, Humor, Sence,Fair polish'd Learning, Eloquence,And call their gawdy works Divine:Hov'ring above my Head letdullnesssit,The only God that's worshipp'd by the Age;ImmortalNonsenceguide my Pen,The Fames ofShakespearand ofBen,Must warp, before my nobler fireTo their regardless Tombs retire.Thus Arm'd, with Nonsence, I'll engageBothUniversities,And their Pedantick fooleries,Show the misguided World the Cheat,And letManknow thatNonsencemakes him Great.

III.

AlmightyFolly! How shall I thy praiseTo Human Understandings raise?What shall I doThy worth to shew?The Glorious Sun, that rules the Day,Gives vital warmth and life by ev'ry Ray.His Blessings he in common grants,To Hemlock as to nobler Plants;Thy Virtue thou dost circumscribe,And dost dispenceThy influence,But to the Darlings of thy Tribe,Thou Wealth and Honour dost bestowOn thy triumphantFools,Whilst abject Sence do's barefoot go;So weak's the Learning of the noisie Schools.

IV.

Tell me, ye Learned Sots! who spend your timeIn reading Books,With thoughtful Heads and meagre Looks,To Learnings Pinacle, who climbThrough the wild Briers ofPhilosophy,The Thorns of harshPhilology,The dirty Road whereAristotlewentEncumber'd with a thousandtermsUncouth, Unintelligible,Not by any fancy fathomable,Bringing distracted Minds to harms;The rankestHelleborecannot prevent.Tell me, I say, ye Learn'd Sots!Did e'r the old or new Philosophy,Make a Man splendid live, or wealthy die?Tho' you may think your Notions truer,They'll ne'r advance your Lotts,To the Estate of Wise SirJonathanthe Brewer.

AFool! Heav'ns bless the charming Name,So much admir'd in Ages past,As long as this, and all the World shall last,Shall be the Subject of Triumphing Fame.AFool! what mighty wonders has he wrought?What mighty Actions done?Obey'd by all, controul'd by none;EvenLoveits self is to its Footstool brought.For t'other day, I met amidst the ThrongA Lady wealthy, beautiful and young;Madam, said I, I wish you double Joy,Of a ripe Husband and a budding Boy,And with my self a sight of him you Wed,}The happy Part'ner of your Bridal Bed.Sir, she reply'd, I him in Wedlock had;Pointing unto an Image by her side,An odder Figure no Man e'r espy'd,Long was his Chin, and carotty his Beard,His Eyes sunk in, and high his Nose was rear'd,A nauseous ugliness possess'd the Tool,And scarce had Wit enough to be a Fool:Bless me (thought I) if Fools such fortune get,Then who (the Devil) wou'd be plagu'd with wit.

VI.

View but the Realms ofNonsence, see the State,The Pageant pomp attends the show,When the great God ofDullnessdoes in triumph go,How splendid and how greatHis num'rous Train of Blockheads do appear?AlmightyJove,That governs all above,Is but a puny to this Mighty God,The blustring God of War,Who with one NodMakes the Earth tremble from afar,Guarded with puissant Champions stern and boldThat breath Destruction, talk of bloody Jars,Have nought but ragged Cloaths to keep off cold,And tatter'd Ensigns relicks of the Wars.The God ofDullnessmounted on his ThroneBeneath a CanopyOf fix'd stupidity,Prostrate his num'rous Subjects tumble down,They pay obeisance to their gloomy God,And at his NodThey act, they move,They hate, they love,They bless, they curse, they swear,For they his Creatures are,He amply does his Benefits afford,For each confirmed Blockhead is a Lord.

VII.

Then talk no more of Parts and Sence,For Riches ne'r attend the Wise,Have you to dullness no pretence,You shall to Grandeur never rise;He with a gloomy mien Divinely dull,Whose very aspect tells the World he is a Fool,Whose thicker SkullIs proof against each storm of Fate,Is Born for Glory, and he shall be Great.Who 'ere wou'd rise,Or great Preferment get,Must nere pretend to Wit,Or be that monstrous, ill shap'd Man call'd Wise;He must not boastOf Learning's Value, or its cost;But, if he wou'd Preferment have,He must be much aFool, or much aKnave.

VIII.

AKnave! the finer Creature far,Tho' of the foolish Race ofIssachar.As the unwieldyBearamong her youngDeform'd, and shapeless Cubs,Finds one more strong,Active and sprightly than the rest:Him she transforms and rubs,And licks into a better shape the Beast.Thus do's the gloomy God of Folly do,With the insipid Race:He do's his num'rous Offspring call,}He handles one and feels his Skull;If it be thick, he says, Be thou a Fool.Another, if about his FaceHe spies a roguish Mein, a cunning Look;If there appearsThe hopes of Falshood in his tender Years,Good signs of PerjuryAnd hardn'd Villany;This for his secret Councils he do's save,Lays on his Paw, and bids him, Be aKnave.

IX.

AKnave! the elder brother to theFool:His vast Dominions are no lessThan the whole Universe:The Lands are bounded by the Sea:The Seas the sturdy Rocks obey:The Storms do know the Limits of their Rule:Neither the Land nor Sea this Hero bind,But unconfin'dO're both he finds a way,O're both he bears Imperial sway:His gay Attendants are the Cheat,That ruines Kingdoms to be Great.The fawning, flattring Fop, who creepsJust like a Spaniel at your Heels,To some illustrious Knave, who sweepsAway a Kingdoms Wealth at once,And with the Publick Coin his Treasure fills;For Kingdoms work t'enrich theKnaveandDunce.

Honesty's a Garb we're mock'd in,Only wore byJewsandTurks.Merit is a Popish Doctrine;Men have no regard to Works.Substantial Knavery is a Vertue willYour Coffers fill;And Altars raise,Unto your Praise.Be but a Knave, you'll keep the World in awe,And fear no Law;For no Transgression is,Where all Men do amiss.But here methinks an antiquatedHerostarts,Surpris'd at my Discourse;He starts and boggles like a Horse,And damns our modern Knavish Arts.

XI.

VainYouth, he says misguided by aKnave,By some dull Blockhead tempted from thy rest;The worldly Grandeur thou dost vainly crave,Is nought but Noise and Foolishness at best.What Man wou'd quit his Sense,Or, the wise Dictates of right Reason's Rule,In vain pretenceTo be a rich, a gawdyFool?Or, quit his Honesty, so much despis'd,And basely condescend,To every little Knavish End;Run headlong into every Cheat,Attempt each Villany to make him Great.Believe me Youth, (be better now advis'd)Thy early Vertues will thy Temples spread,}With lasting Lawrels 'round thy Head.Shall flourish when the Wearers dead.I who have always honest been, though poor,In whom the utmost signs of Age appears,And sink beneath the Burthen of my Years,Cou'd never yet adoreA Knave or Blockhead, were he ne'er so Great;Or, be like to them, to purchase an Estate.

XII.

Poor thredbareVertuene'er admir'd in Court,But seeks its Refuge in an honest Mind,There it securely dwells,LikeAnchoretsin Cells,Where no Ambition nor wild Lust resorts:To love our Country is indeed our Pride;We glory in an honest Action done;When the Reward is laid asideThe Glory and the Action is our own,We seldom findThe Good, the Just, the Brave,Have their RewardFrom Princes they did saveFrom dire Destruction, or a poisoning Foe;They let them goContemn'd, disdain'd; and most regardThose Villians sought their overthrow.As if the Just, the Brave, the Good,Were but aBridgeof WoodTo waft to great Preferments o'er,Those, who were our foes before,And then be tumbl'd down like useless Logs,While those, who just pass'd o'er,And the obliging Bridge shou'd thank,Do scornfully stand grinning on the Bank,To see the venerable Ruines floatAdrift upon the Stream,Contemn'd by them,Who give the Childrens Bread unto the Dogs;In vain, says he,we've fought——But at this WordHe fiercely look'd, and then he grasp'd his Sword.

XIII.

Pity it is, he said, this Sword of mine,Of late so gloriously did shine,In Foreign Fields 'midst Show'rs of Blood,With which I've cut my Passage throughThe SnowyAlpsandPyreneanHills,Where Death the Land with vast Destruction fills,'Mongst Warriors, whoVenture their Lives for their dear Countries good,Should now be laid aside'Mongst Rubbish Iron old,From reaking Blood scarce cold;Or else converted to aKnife,For some damn'd Villain first to cutA Princes Bread, and next his Throat:In vain we venture to preserve his Life,In vain to Foreign Fields we come,In vain to Foreign Force alli'd,If a nefarious Brood at HomeEmbarrass his Affairs,Prolong the Wars,Only t' enrich his Enemies,Weaken his Government, and his Allies.

XIV.

'Tis strange a Prince, shou'd ere aFoolpreferr,To be an Officer!AKnavemay serve an unjust Government,But ne'er preventThose Mischiefs may attend the just:For who would trustA Villain may be bought by Gold,Unless design'd on purpose to be sold?If Princes wou'd useFoolsas Shop-men doTheir Signs or Boards of show,To tell the passers by there's better stuffWithin, 'tis rational enough.But to set Centry at the Door,}A Patriot or a Senator,Philosopher or Orator,To tell the Passers by their is within,AMerry Andrewto be seen,Is very much ridiculous,Tho' to our grief we often find it thus.Thus Princes BastardizeTheir Countries Sons Legitimate,And give the fair EstateUnto a Spurious Brood,That ne'er did good;The honest Work, theKnaveenjoys the Prize.

XV.

A Government adorn'd with Fools,Empty Trifles, useless Tools,Looks like a Toy-Shop gloriously bedecktWith gawdy gewgaws, Childrens play things,Painted Babies, Tinsel Creatures,Wooden Folk, with Human features,Made just for show, and no advantage brings,And prove of no effect.It dwindles to aRaree-Show,In which no Man must act a PartBut the dullBlockheadand theBeau,The huffingFopwithout a Heart;What Wise Man would a Journey takeOn a dull Steed has broke his Back?Or have recourseUnto aHobby-Horse?Those act by such wise Rules,Who prop Just Princes by a Tyrant's Tools.

XVI.

Surely the Genius of a fruitful IsleIs either lost,Or what is worst,Murder'd by those who shou'd support her Fame,Add Glory to her Name;The Heavens themselves have cast an angry look,Seldom the Glorious Sun does shineBut Veils its face Divine.Jovedoes misguide the Seasons every Year;Nought can we read in Nature's Book,To reap her Fruits scarce worth our while.Our Mother Earth,From whose unhappy Womb,We Mortals come,Ne'er shows a Glorious Birth,But proves abortive as our Actions are;Nought have we left but hope,Just like the Blind at Noon we grope:The number of our Sins we must fulfil,And if we're sav'd, it is against our will.

Long time hadIsraelbeen disus'd from Rest,Long had they been by Tyrants sore opprest;Kings of all sorts they ignorantly crav'd,And grew more stupid as they were enslav'd;Yet want of Grace they impiously disown'd,And still like Slaves beneath the Burden groan'd:With languid Eyes their Race of Kings they view,The Bad too many, and the Good too few;Some rob'd their Houses, and destroy'd their Lives,Ravish'd their Daughters, and debauch'd their Wives;Prophan'd the Altars with polluted Loves,And worship'd Idols in the Woods and Groves.To Foreign Nations next they have recourse;Striving to mend, they made their State much worse.They first fromHebronall their Plagues did bring,Cramm'd in the Single Person of a King;From whose base Loins ten thousand Evils flow,Which by Succession they must undergo.Yet sense of Native Freedom still remains,They fret and grumble underneath their Chains;Incens'd, enrag'd, their Passion do's arise,Till at his Palace-Gate their Monarch dies.This Glorious Feat was by the Fathers done,Whose Children next depos'd his Tyrant Son,Made him, likeCain, a murd'rous Wanderer,Both of his Crimes, and of his Fortunes share.But still resolv'd to split on Foreign Shelves,Rather than venture once to trust Themselves,To Foreign Courts and Councils do resort,To find a King their Freedoms to support:Of one for mighty Actions fam'd they're told,Profoundly wise, and desperately bold,Skilful in War, Successful still in Fight,Had vanquish'd Hosts, and Armies put to flight;And when the Storms of War and Battels cease,Knew well to steer the Ship of State in Peace.Him they approve, approaching to their sight;Lov'd by the Gods, of Mankind the Delight.The numerous Tribes resort to see him land,Cover the Beach, and blacken all the Strand;With loud Huzza's they welcome him on shore,And for their Blessing do the Gods implore.The Sanhedrim conven'd, at length debateThe sad Condition of their drooping State,And Sinking Church, just ready now to drown;And with one Shout they do the Hero crown.Ah HappyIsrael! had there never comeInto his Councils crafty Knaves at home,In combination with a Foreign Brood,Sworn Foes toIsrael's Rights andIsrael's Good;Who impiously foment Intestine Jars,Exhaust our Treasure, and prolong our Wars;MakeIsrael's People to themselves a prey,Mislead their King, and steal his Heart away:United Intrests thus they do divide,The State declines by Avarice and Pride;Like Beasts of Prey they ravage all the Land,Acquire Preferments, and usurp Command:The Foreign Inmates the Housekeepers spoil,And drain the Moisture of our fruitful Soil.If to our Monarch there are Honours due,Yet what withGibeoniteshave we to do?When Foreign States employ 'em for their Food,To draw their Water, and to hew their Wood.What Mushroom Honours dos our Soil afford!One day a Begger, and the next a Lord.What dastard Souls doJewishNobles wear!The Commons such Affronts would never bear.Let no Historian the sad Stories tellOf thy base Sons, Oh servileIsrael!But thou, my Muse, more generous and brave,Shalt their black Crimes from dark oblivion save;To future Ages shalt their Sins disclose,And brand with Infamy thy Nation's Foes.A Country lies, due East fromJudah's Shoar,Where stormy Winds and noisy Billows roar;A Land much differing from all other Soils,Forc'd from the Sea, and buttress'd up with Piles.No marble Quarrys bind the spungy Ground,But Loads of Sand and Cockle-shells are found:Its Natives void of Honesty and Grace,A Boorish, rude, and an inhumane Race;From Nature's Excrement their Life is drawn,Are born in Bogs, and nourish'd up from Spawn.Their hard-smoak'd Beef is their continual Meat,Which they with Rusk, their luscious Manna, eat;Such Food with their chill stomachs best agrees,They singHosannahto a Mare's-milk Cheese.To supplicate no God, their Lips will move,Who speaks in Thunder like AlmightyJove,But watry Deities they do invoke,Who from the Marshes most Divinely croak.Their Land, as if asham'd their Crimes to see,Dives down beneath the surface of the Sea.Neptune, the God who do's the Seas command,Ne'er stands on Tip-toe to descry their Land;But seated on a Billow of the Sea,With Ease their humble Marshes do's survey.These are the Vermin do our State molest;Eclipse our Glory, and disturb our Rest.BENTIRin the Inglorious Roll the first,Bentirto this and future Ages curst,Of mean Descent, yet insolently proud,Shun'd by the Great, and hated by the Crowd;Who neither Blood nor Parentage can boast,And what he got theJewishNation lost:By lavish Grants whole Provinces he gains,Made forfeit by theJewishPeoples Pains;Till angry Sanhedrims such Grants resume,And from the Peacock take each borrow'd Plume.Why should theGibeonitesour Land engross,And aggrandize their Fortunes with our loss?Let them in foreign States proudly command,They have no Portion in the Promis'd Land,Which immemorially has been decreedTo be the Birth-right of theJewishSeed.How ill do'sBentirin the Head appear}Of Warriours, who doJewishEnsigns bear?By such we're grown e'en Scandalous in War.Our Fathers Trophies wore, and oft could tellHow by their Swords the mighty Thousands fell;What mighty Deeds our Grandfathers had done,What Battels fought, what Wreaths of Honour won:Thro the extended Orb they purchas'd Fame,The Nations trembling at their Awful Name:Such wondrous Heroes our Fore-fathers were,When we, base Souls! but Pigmies are in War:By Foreign Chieftains we improve in Skill;We learn how to intrench, not how to kill:For all our Charge are good Proficients madeIn using both the Pickax and the Spade.But in what Field have we a Conquest wrought?In Ten Years War what Battel have we fought?If we a Foreign Slave may use in War,Yet why in Council should that Slave appear?If we withJewishTreasure make him great,Must it be done to undermine the State?Where are the Antient Sages of Renown?}NoMagileft, fit to advise the Crown?Must we by Foreign Councils be undone?UnhappyIsrael, who such Measures takes,And seeks for Statesmen in the Bogs and Lakes;Who speak the Language of most abject Slaves,Under the Conduct of ourJewishKnaves.OurHebrew's murder'd in their hoarser Throats;How ill their Tongues agree withJewish Notes!Their untun'd Prattle do's our Sense confound,Which in our Princely Palaces do's sound;The self-same Language the old Serpent spoke,When misbelievingEvethe Apple took:Of our first Mother why are we asham'd,When by the self-same Rhetorick we are damn'd?ButBentir, not Content with such Command,To canton out theJewishNation's Land;He do's extend to Other Coasts his Pride,And other Kingdoms into Parts divide:UnhappyHiram! dismal is thy Song;Tho born to Empire, thou art ever young!Ever in Nonage, canst no Right transfer:But who madeBentirthy Executor?What mighty Power do'sIsrael's Land afford?}What Power has made the famousBentirLord?The Peoples Voice, andSanhedrim's Accord.Are not the Rights of People still the same?Did they e'er differ in or Place or Name?Have not Mankind on equal Terms still stood,Without Distinction, since the mighty Flood?And have notHiram's Subjects a free ChoiceTo chuse a King by their united Voice?IfIsrael's People cou'd a Monarch chuse,A living King at the same time refuse;ThatHiram's People, shall it e'er be said,Have not the Right of Choice when he is dead?When no Successor to the Crown's in sight,The Crown is certainly the Peoples Right.If Kings are made the People to enthral,We had much better have no King at all:But Kings, appointed for the Common Good,Always as Guardians to their People stood.And Heaven allows the People sure a PowerTo chuse such Kings as shall not them devour:They know full well what best will serve themselves,How to avoid the dang'rous Rocks and Shelves.UnthinkingIsrael! Ah henceforth bewareHow you entrust this faithless Wanderer!He who another Kingdom can divide,}May set your Constitution soon aside,And o'er your Liberties in Triumph ride.Support your Rightful Monarch and his Crown,But pull this proud, this croaking Mortal down.Proceed, my Muse; the Story next relateOfKeppechthe Imperious Chit of State,Mounted to Grandeur by the usual CourseOf Whoring, Pimping, or a Crime that's worse;Of Foreign Birth, and undescended too,Yet he, likeBentir, mighty Feats can do.He robs our Treasure, to augment his State,AndJewishNobles on his Fortunes wait:Our ravish'd Honours on his Shoulder wears,And Titles from our Antient Rolls he tears.Was e'er a prudent People thus befool'd,By upstart Foreigners thus basely gull'd?YeJewishNobles, boast no more your Race,Or sacred Badges did your Fathers grace!In vain is Blood, or Parentages, whenRibbons and Garters can ennoble Men.To Chivalry you need have no recourse,The gawdy Trappings make the Ass a Horse.No more, no more your Antient Honours own,By slavishGibeonitesyou are outdone:Or else your Antient Courage reassume,And to assert your Honours once presume;From off their Heads your ravish'd Lawrels tear,And let them know whatJewishNobles are.

To Foreign Nations next they have recourse;Striving to mend, they made their State much worse.They first fromHebronall their Plagues did bring,Cramm'd in the Single Person of a King;From whose base Loins ten thousand Evils flow,Which by Succession they must undergo.Yet sense of Native Freedom still remains,They fret and grumble underneath their Chains;Incens'd, enrag'd, their Passion do's arise,Till at his Palace-Gate their Monarch dies.This Glorious Feat was by the Fathers done,Whose Children next depos'd his Tyrant Son,Made him, likeCain, a murd'rous Wanderer,Both of his Crimes, and of his Fortunes share.

But still resolv'd to split on Foreign Shelves,Rather than venture once to trust Themselves,To Foreign Courts and Councils do resort,To find a King their Freedoms to support:Of one for mighty Actions fam'd they're told,Profoundly wise, and desperately bold,Skilful in War, Successful still in Fight,Had vanquish'd Hosts, and Armies put to flight;And when the Storms of War and Battels cease,Knew well to steer the Ship of State in Peace.Him they approve, approaching to their sight;Lov'd by the Gods, of Mankind the Delight.The numerous Tribes resort to see him land,Cover the Beach, and blacken all the Strand;With loud Huzza's they welcome him on shore,And for their Blessing do the Gods implore.

The Sanhedrim conven'd, at length debateThe sad Condition of their drooping State,And Sinking Church, just ready now to drown;And with one Shout they do the Hero crown.

Ah HappyIsrael! had there never comeInto his Councils crafty Knaves at home,In combination with a Foreign Brood,Sworn Foes toIsrael's Rights andIsrael's Good;Who impiously foment Intestine Jars,Exhaust our Treasure, and prolong our Wars;MakeIsrael's People to themselves a prey,Mislead their King, and steal his Heart away:United Intrests thus they do divide,The State declines by Avarice and Pride;Like Beasts of Prey they ravage all the Land,Acquire Preferments, and usurp Command:The Foreign Inmates the Housekeepers spoil,And drain the Moisture of our fruitful Soil.If to our Monarch there are Honours due,Yet what withGibeoniteshave we to do?When Foreign States employ 'em for their Food,To draw their Water, and to hew their Wood.What Mushroom Honours dos our Soil afford!One day a Begger, and the next a Lord.What dastard Souls doJewishNobles wear!The Commons such Affronts would never bear.Let no Historian the sad Stories tellOf thy base Sons, Oh servileIsrael!But thou, my Muse, more generous and brave,Shalt their black Crimes from dark oblivion save;To future Ages shalt their Sins disclose,And brand with Infamy thy Nation's Foes.

A Country lies, due East fromJudah's Shoar,Where stormy Winds and noisy Billows roar;A Land much differing from all other Soils,Forc'd from the Sea, and buttress'd up with Piles.No marble Quarrys bind the spungy Ground,But Loads of Sand and Cockle-shells are found:Its Natives void of Honesty and Grace,A Boorish, rude, and an inhumane Race;From Nature's Excrement their Life is drawn,Are born in Bogs, and nourish'd up from Spawn.Their hard-smoak'd Beef is their continual Meat,Which they with Rusk, their luscious Manna, eat;Such Food with their chill stomachs best agrees,They singHosannahto a Mare's-milk Cheese.To supplicate no God, their Lips will move,Who speaks in Thunder like AlmightyJove,But watry Deities they do invoke,Who from the Marshes most Divinely croak.Their Land, as if asham'd their Crimes to see,Dives down beneath the surface of the Sea.Neptune, the God who do's the Seas command,Ne'er stands on Tip-toe to descry their Land;But seated on a Billow of the Sea,With Ease their humble Marshes do's survey.These are the Vermin do our State molest;Eclipse our Glory, and disturb our Rest.

BENTIRin the Inglorious Roll the first,Bentirto this and future Ages curst,Of mean Descent, yet insolently proud,Shun'd by the Great, and hated by the Crowd;Who neither Blood nor Parentage can boast,And what he got theJewishNation lost:By lavish Grants whole Provinces he gains,Made forfeit by theJewishPeoples Pains;Till angry Sanhedrims such Grants resume,And from the Peacock take each borrow'd Plume.Why should theGibeonitesour Land engross,And aggrandize their Fortunes with our loss?Let them in foreign States proudly command,They have no Portion in the Promis'd Land,Which immemorially has been decreedTo be the Birth-right of theJewishSeed.How ill do'sBentirin the Head appear}Of Warriours, who doJewishEnsigns bear?By such we're grown e'en Scandalous in War.Our Fathers Trophies wore, and oft could tellHow by their Swords the mighty Thousands fell;What mighty Deeds our Grandfathers had done,What Battels fought, what Wreaths of Honour won:Thro the extended Orb they purchas'd Fame,The Nations trembling at their Awful Name:Such wondrous Heroes our Fore-fathers were,When we, base Souls! but Pigmies are in War:By Foreign Chieftains we improve in Skill;We learn how to intrench, not how to kill:For all our Charge are good Proficients madeIn using both the Pickax and the Spade.But in what Field have we a Conquest wrought?In Ten Years War what Battel have we fought?

If we a Foreign Slave may use in War,Yet why in Council should that Slave appear?If we withJewishTreasure make him great,Must it be done to undermine the State?Where are the Antient Sages of Renown?}NoMagileft, fit to advise the Crown?Must we by Foreign Councils be undone?UnhappyIsrael, who such Measures takes,And seeks for Statesmen in the Bogs and Lakes;Who speak the Language of most abject Slaves,Under the Conduct of ourJewishKnaves.OurHebrew's murder'd in their hoarser Throats;How ill their Tongues agree withJewish Notes!Their untun'd Prattle do's our Sense confound,Which in our Princely Palaces do's sound;The self-same Language the old Serpent spoke,When misbelievingEvethe Apple took:Of our first Mother why are we asham'd,When by the self-same Rhetorick we are damn'd?

ButBentir, not Content with such Command,To canton out theJewishNation's Land;He do's extend to Other Coasts his Pride,And other Kingdoms into Parts divide:UnhappyHiram! dismal is thy Song;Tho born to Empire, thou art ever young!Ever in Nonage, canst no Right transfer:But who madeBentirthy Executor?What mighty Power do'sIsrael's Land afford?}What Power has made the famousBentirLord?The Peoples Voice, andSanhedrim's Accord.Are not the Rights of People still the same?Did they e'er differ in or Place or Name?Have not Mankind on equal Terms still stood,Without Distinction, since the mighty Flood?And have notHiram's Subjects a free ChoiceTo chuse a King by their united Voice?IfIsrael's People cou'd a Monarch chuse,A living King at the same time refuse;ThatHiram's People, shall it e'er be said,Have not the Right of Choice when he is dead?When no Successor to the Crown's in sight,The Crown is certainly the Peoples Right.If Kings are made the People to enthral,We had much better have no King at all:But Kings, appointed for the Common Good,Always as Guardians to their People stood.And Heaven allows the People sure a PowerTo chuse such Kings as shall not them devour:They know full well what best will serve themselves,How to avoid the dang'rous Rocks and Shelves.

UnthinkingIsrael! Ah henceforth bewareHow you entrust this faithless Wanderer!He who another Kingdom can divide,}May set your Constitution soon aside,And o'er your Liberties in Triumph ride.Support your Rightful Monarch and his Crown,But pull this proud, this croaking Mortal down.

Proceed, my Muse; the Story next relateOfKeppechthe Imperious Chit of State,Mounted to Grandeur by the usual CourseOf Whoring, Pimping, or a Crime that's worse;Of Foreign Birth, and undescended too,Yet he, likeBentir, mighty Feats can do.He robs our Treasure, to augment his State,AndJewishNobles on his Fortunes wait:Our ravish'd Honours on his Shoulder wears,And Titles from our Antient Rolls he tears.Was e'er a prudent People thus befool'd,By upstart Foreigners thus basely gull'd?YeJewishNobles, boast no more your Race,Or sacred Badges did your Fathers grace!In vain is Blood, or Parentages, whenRibbons and Garters can ennoble Men.To Chivalry you need have no recourse,The gawdy Trappings make the Ass a Horse.No more, no more your Antient Honours own,By slavishGibeonitesyou are outdone:Or else your Antient Courage reassume,And to assert your Honours once presume;From off their Heads your ravish'd Lawrels tear,And let them know whatJewishNobles are.

PUBLICATIONS IN PRINT

1948-1949

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